Puckleberry Twist
by rockbandstar
Summary: A collection of one-shot drabbles written for the Puck/Rachel Drabble Meme over on LJ.  Some happy, some sad, and some just downright smutty.  All unrelated and all Puckleberry.
1. Ten Minutes

I've gotten a few requests from people to post my P/R drabbles here... I've finally caved. Each of these oneshots are unrelated one-shot prompt fills from the LJ Puck Rachel Drabble Meme.. So for those of you who are having issues with livejournal or don't have an LJ account, here ya be.

* * *

_Prompt from GoingVintage: _"_He's going to be here in ten minutes, Noah! You've got nine to convince me not to go with him."_

_**Ten Minutes**_

I've never really considered myself a good person. I mean what kind of person actually does? I know that it's a fucked up thing to think, to say, but sometimes you just got to lay it all out there on the line as it is. I'm selfish, I get cranky if I don't get my morning coffee, I curse worse than a sailor, and sometimes I deal with my emotions by fighting. That's not to say that I haven't done honorable things in my life. I go to synagogue with my Nana sometimes, for years I was the primary care giver to my little sister, and I gave a baby girl away that I loved more than anything else because I knew her life would be better because of it.

I also let the only girl I felt like I could ever love go, because I thought she deserved better.

"_I can't pretend that this is nothing." Rachel had whispered. Her voice was filled with anguish as she looked up at me; eyes brimming with tears. _

"_I know," I responded my hands reaching out for her one last time. I had brushed the tangled and matted hair from her face, my eyes clenched tight. Then I leaned down and pressed my lips gently against her forehead. The smell of her hair triggered something inside of me and suddenly my lips were covering hers._

_I could feel the sparks shooting through my body, my hands tangling through her hair to pull her closer, tighter to me. She let out a soft moan, her neck arched backwards as her breathing cascaded through the air around us. For a moment I pictured what it would be like, what we would be like and then I let her go._

"_You leave tomorrow." _

_She had tears streaming down her face, streaking the pink of her cheeks. I watched her hooded eyes, close, her head shake softly. Then she simply nodded. It didn't need to be said that it would be better this way; that we were over. I could feel my arms aching to reach out and hold her, to give her some form of comfort. Instead, I stood and watched her walk down the street and out of my life. Her eyes never turned to look back._

_And for some reason, I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever get over her._

I'm in the carport walking back to my car when my pager goes off. I let out a curse under my breath as I dig in my pocket for the thing, praying it's not work calling me back in. It's after eight and all I really want to do is get in my car, go home, and drink some fucking beer. I pull out my cell phone and dial into the hospital, listening to the monotone beeping as it connects me.

"Bout fucking time, Puckerman! Could you like make me wait any longer?" Santana, who is a pro at bitching through the phone, seems to be using what she knows. "I've got some fucking news for you that is just going to _make_ your day." I can hear the sarcasm in her tone and find myself pinching the bridge of my nose.

"I've literally had like the worst fucking day, San. What can you possibly say that's going to make it any worse?" My voice is grainy and a bit growly, the frustration and stress of the day wearing on my nerves. I'm sick of my job, the bullshit of it all. I need a nice long vacation or at least a different line of work.

Her laughter is like _pure evil_ and I get a nice little taste of it as I arrive at my car and unlock my door. I'm just sliding the key into the ignition when she lets the bomb drop, literally.

"Rachel and Alex are eloping."

_I only told Rachel once that I loved her. We were six years old at the time. Shut up, fuck you, it so __**does**__ count; because even though we were far too young to understand the repercussions of such words, we were old enough to be able to say them and think we knew what it meant._

_I was horsing around on the playground, trying to figure out just exactly how high and far I could jump off my swing without hurting myself, when I saw her. She sat on one of the benches by the sandboxes, the ones normally reserved for parents or babysitters, with huge teardrops dripping down her face. The braids in her hair were frizzy and her shirt was covered in mud but the thing that really drew my attention was the huge scrape across the skin of her knee and the streak of blood that ran down her leg._

_I had found myself sitting next to her moments later, fascinated by the wound. There were small bits of sand and gravel ground into it and it looked really painful. I remember looking up into two of the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen and thinking that there was something special about them._

"_You okay?" I questioned, my hand making its way to her back, to gently rub it in a soothing manner. It was something that my mother had done for me a few weeks prior after my father had left us. There was something in the movement of it, in the way the feeling started in one spot and spread outwards that had made it special. I hoped it would work for her, too._

"_It hurts, bad," she had whimpered, her eyes clenched tight as she tried to look away from it. I looked around the park at all the parents, trying to figure out which one was hers, but was confused to find that none of them seemed to be paying her any attention. "I knew I shouldn't have snuck out to come to the park."_

_I couldn't help but laugh at the guilty look on her face as she looked at me sheepishly. If she didn't have an adult here to take care of her, then I would have to do it. I remember pulling the candy cigarettes from my pocket and handing them to her, telling her that they would help. She pulled one out, took a bite out of it and sniffled through a smile._

_It was probably one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. When her tongue snaked out to lick the sugar off her lips she turned to look at me with stars in her eyes. "I love you."_

_I had never had a girl (other than family that is) tell me that she loved me before. I felt like such a badass and couldn't help but smile in response. "I love you, too." I had replied, shrugging as I nudged her with my shoulder. And the thing was I actually meant it._

I know lying is bad and all that bullshit, but what did you expect me to do? The moment I hung up with Santana I found myself dialing my boss. When I explained that I had a family emergency, that I wouldn't be in for a couple of days, and that I had to drive home he was more than understanding. Honestly, the guy's a bit of a lazy ass and I could have told him my cat died and he wouldn't have wasted the energy to question me.

Pulling onto the highway, I sent a single text out, my eyes focused on the road as I pressed the keys.

**I'm on my way –P**

_It was easier to imagine that things were different, easier to pretend that I hadn't fallen so far. I pulled my hand back, letting my wrist snap as the slushie flew through the air and splattered across her face. I watched her mouth open in shock, her fists clench as she bit her tongue to hold back her scream._

_And I laughed._

_As the other football players swarmed around me, their hands clapping me on the back in congratulations I watched her storm off leaving a small puddle in her wake. I was getting everything I ever wanted; a spot on the team, acceptance, friends._

_But I couldn't help but wonder about the pit in my stomach and the quiet thought that suddenly everything had changed._

I'm less than an hour away when I get a text back. I've been driving all night in a truck with no air and a radio that only works some of the time. I'm pretty sure I smell about as awesome as I feel, but all I can really think about is the fact that I might be too late.

**Where the fuck are you? You're going to miss her if you don't hurry your ass up! – S**

Once I reach the city limits, traffic is brutal. I've heard horror stories about getting stuck in New York City traffic and I'm starting to believe them. I'm basically sitting at a standstill, checking the clock on my phone every twenty seconds, when I realize that I'm not going to make it.

I do the math in my head, my eyes scanning the street around me as I contemplate my next move. My phone buzzing basically makes the decision for me.

**He's on his way. You've got thirty minutes, tops. Where the fuck are you? –S**

I pull my car over to the side of the road, ignoring the honking horns around me as I cut a few people off. I figure I've got a mile and a half to run, two tops. I let my feet hit the pavement, dodging and swerving past the crowds of people.

I run until it hurts to breathe and then push myself and run some more. I haven't run this much since high school and I can feel the effect of it wreaking havoc on my body. My muscles ache and scream in protest but, surprisingly, I find myself relishing the pain of the movements. At least I am feeling something other than the ache in my chest.

I keep my phone clenched in my fist, bringing it up to my face to check the time with every few blocks that I pass. At each red light, I find myself pacing as a few curses are muttered under my breath. Each minute that ticks down makes me push just a little bit harder.

I can't lose her again. I just can't.

"_Your Mom keeps looking at me funny," Rachel whispers. I crank my head around to find my Mom and Nana ogling the two of us. I swear you can almost see the drool pooling on their chins._

"_Sorry," I reply, my shoulders shrugging as I turn back towards the stage. My sister is up next and I can sort of see a small chunk of her through a gap in the side of the curtains. "She's crazy. You know how like in love with you she is. She's probably planning our wedding." I listen to the soft giggle beside me and can't help but throw my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to me._

"_I've missed this, missed you." She's quiet, her eyes watching the small girls on stage twirl and tumble. I can tell by the way her brow furrows and the edges of her mouth bend that she heard me though. It's been two years since we graduated from high school, two years since I kissed her goodbye and watched her walk away into the sunset and into her new life._

_It hasn't gotten any easier._

"_Noah," she whispers, her eyes turning away from the stage to look at me. "I think I need to tell you something," the way the words fall from her lips, all soft and gentle, make my heart ache. "I've met someone. His name is Alex and he is in one of my dancing workshops."_

_My hand stills in her hair, dropping the tendril I was curling around my finger. I look into her eyes, let the words settle in, and pull my arm down off of her chair to rest in my lap. I can see my sister moving onto the stage in front of us, feel my heart beating in my chest, and let the words tumble from my lips._

"_I'm happy for you, Rach." And the thing is I should be. But as I watch my sister dance, watch each of her graceful movements across the stage, I can't help but hear the resounding echo of the crack that has just happened inside of me._

I'm leaning against the door jamb one hand resting on my knee as the other pounds heavily against the door. I can barely catch my breath, let alone stand straight so when the door whips open I find myself tumbling inside. "Noah!" Rachel hollers as she drops to her knees next to me. She's looking over me, grabbing my wrist to check my pulse, when I see Santana walk into the room. She shakes her head in amusement and then leaves. _Bitch._ I can feel the sweat pouring down my face and can't help but groan as I force myself to stand up.

"Rachel, don't marry him." Or at least that's what I'm trying to say. It comes out more like "Racheldon'tmarryhim." But I'm pretty sure she gets the drift because she drops my wrist, her mouth open in surprise.

"Who told you about that?" Rachel questions as her eyes dart back towards the living room where I can hear San laughing quite loudly on the phone. The bitch is probably calling everyone she knows to tell them what an ass I am making out of myself. The thing is that I find that I could give a fuck less as I look into Rachel's eyes.

They are still so fucking doe like and brown.

"Please, don't marry him." I've finally been able to catch my breath and the words coming out of me are starting to sink in because I can see the way she's looking at me with confusion on her face. I look down at my sweat soaked shirt and start explaining without her even asking. "I drove all fucking night to get here but got caught in rush hour traffic. I didn't want to miss you and the cars weren't moving, so I ran like two miles. No biggie."

Rachel has this look on her face that I can't quite read but it's a mixture between confusion, amusement, and embarrassment. I can't seem to force myself to say the words that I need to which, to be honest, really fucking sucks.

"He's going to be here in ten minutes, Noah!" She sounds out of breath and a bit panicky as she looks over her shoulder. There is a suitcase setting next to the stairs and I feel my heart drop into my stomach. "You've got nine minutes to convince me not to go with him."

I've never been good with words; which is how I find myself showing her what I am unable to tell her.

My hand reaches up, tangles in her hair, and yanks her down to me our lips meeting. They gently brush twice and then I find myself deepening the kiss, nipping at her bottom lip. The sparks are still there, shooting through my body, and my hands reach up to wrap around her waist and pull her closer. Our tongues touch and I feel her angle her neck adding to the pressure.

I can feel myself losing control, grasping her tighter to me and as I maneuver her on top of me she lets out a small moan into my mouth. When she finally pulls back her breath is cascading over my face, coming out in pants. I find myself leaning up and trailing soft kisses on her forehead, her face, eyes and nose.

Fuck it.

"You shouldn't go with him because he's not me." I whisper, my hands brushing her hair back from her face so I can truly look at her. "Because every time you walk away from me my heart breaks just a little bit more." My voice wavers a bit as I continue and I find myself peeking over her shoulder to make sure Santana isn't standing there watching. "And because when I told you that I loved you when I was six, I had no fucking idea how true it was. How true it would always be."

She has a smile on her face and I watch the few tear drops slip down her trembling cheeks. I use my thumb to wipe them away watching each emotion as it flickers across her face. I can see the love shining in her eyes and I'm pretty sure that she feels it too, but I've got to get one last point in there that I know she can't argue with. "Plus," I reply trying to fight back a huge smile, "he will never really understand what it means to be a Jew."

Her neck arches as she throws her head back in laughter and I can't help but burry my face there. I'm taking in the smell of her skin and her hair and trying not to let out a huge groan when I hear the knock on the door. She looks down at me, her face blotchy and red from her tears, and I'm amazed at how beautiful she looks.

Her lips meet mine once, twice, before I find myself deepening the kiss. Her tears have made her lips taste different, salty in a way. For some reason, it doesn't bother me. I hear the click of Santana's heels as she brushes past us and whips the door open.

"Your services are no longer needed," A loud slam echoes through the entryway. Rachel pulls back, her mouth and eyes wide in shock. I'm biting my lip to hold back my laughter, my fingers digging into her sides to keep her from moving.

"SANTANA," she screams; her brow furrowing as she scowls up at her roommate, "That wasn't very nice."

"Like I give a fuck," Santana winks at me and traipses out of the room. For some reason, I can't contain the laughter any longer.


	2. Burning Alive

_Prompt from psawyer48: Finn and Rachel are dating, Puck tells Finn he's in love with Rachel._

**Burning Alive**

Puck could hear his phone, incessantly ringing in the other room, but he chose to ignore it. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he let his fingers linger over the picture of Rachel's face. Things in life had gotten so complicated, so complex, it was hard to believe that anything had ever seemed easy.

The moment their bodies and lips had touched and he had felt the spark, he knew he was fucked. The thing was, and this was the honest to fucking god truth, he didn't mean to fall in love with her. She was bat-shit crazy and high maintenance and sometimes she was scary as hell. But she was loyal, and giving, and fucking faithful until the end.

She was also so beautiful that sometimes she took his breath away.

He had tried to deny it, tried to deny the feeling that had been steadily growing in his chest since the moment he saw her kiss Finn. As much as he tried, though, he knew what it meant and it fucking sucked.

Puck couldn't help but think about the last time he saw her. He had found himself sitting on a bench alone, letting the heat of the fire warm his face and his body. It was the end of the school year celebration and as he watched the fire crackle and burn, he spotted her out of the corner of his eyes.

She was sitting alone, her face turned up towards the night sky and her eyes were as bright as the stars above her. He watched the flames of the bonfire flicker across her face and he found himself enamored by the beauty and calmness of it.

Maybe it was the fact that he could still imagine the way she had tasted on his lips and tongue or the way her body had moved over the top of his as they lay in her bed. Or maybe it was the fact that she was sitting alone, but he found himself moving, his shoulder bumping against hers as he sat down beside her.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?" She had asked him softly, her eyes hesitantly scanning his face. There was something about the way the flames flickered and reflected off of her, the way her hair shone under the moonlight that took his breath away. She looked magical.

"You're happy with Finn," it wasn't a question and as soon as the words left his lips he regretted them.

"You're scared," her voice was barely a whisper, the words hanging in the air around them. He knew that he needed to force himself to look away, to fucking get up and move. But he couldn't. The thought of leaning over and kissing her, of wiping the knowing look off of her face, was consuming him.

When her tongue peeked out to wet her bottom lip, he found himself standing up, head shaking. "I can't go down this path again." Turning away from her, he couldn't help but glance back and see the sad look on her face.

It had been two weeks since that party, two weeks since he had fucking talked to _anyone_ from Glee. The thing about avoiding the situation, though, was that the longer he stayed away the worse the dreams got.

Just the night before he had dreamed about her, her features lit up by that same firelight. He had moved closer to her, wrapping his hand around her head and pulling her gently into him. Instead of talking she had leaned up, her lips meeting his slowly. As his hands tangled into her hair, she brought her hand up and tenderly cupped his face and neck.

The emotion of the moment, of just the idea, filled him up so completely that he found himself waking up, his breath leaving him in pants. If he wasn't so unhinged by the damn dream he would have been pissed that she was weaseling her way into even more aspects of his life. But that was thing about Berry, she makes him want to light himself on fucking fire, but if burning alive is what it takes to have her then he will.

Puck finds it easy to lose himself in his guitar and the way the notes reverberate around him as he strums the chords. There is something familiar and comforting in the repetitiveness of the actions. He doesn't give Finn much longer before he realizes something is going on, the guy is slow but he's not that slow. He hasn't avoided him this much since baby-gate and he's wondering how he's going to explain his strange behavior when there is a knock on his bedroom door.

"You've been avoiding me," Santana states as she throws his door open and sashays in. Her nose crinkles in distaste at the disaster zone that is his room, before she plops down on the side of his bed her eyes scanning his face.

"I've been busy," he mutters, his voice deep with anger.

"No, you haven't. You've been trying to protect yourself, from what I'm not sure, but you are. Here's a newsflash for you… it's not fucking working. Get off your ass and quit being a Lima-loser. Do something about whatever is making you this worthless before you're the laughing stock of the town."

He's angrier than he should be. But you don't just prance into his fucking room without an invitation. That shit just doesn't happen. "You don't fucking know anything, Satan, so just let yourself out the same way you let yourself in. Didn't your mama ever teach you any fuckin' manners?"

The thing about Santana is that he knows what buttons to push to really piss her off. Her eyes are staring at him through tiny slits and her mouth is set in a scowl. He's wondering if she is going to reach over and punch him when she responds. "I know you better than you fucking think you asshole. You pushed her away and now you have to deal with the fucking consequences. Jesus Christ, just grow a fucking pair already and do something about it or learn to live with your mistakes."

It's not like he means to say it, but the words tumble from his lips before he can use his filter to stop them. "You have no fucking idea what you are talking about Santana. Maybe you should be more concerned about your relationship with Brittany, since you fucked Finn and all, than about my love life. Did you ever think about that?"

She slaps him (no surprise there), calls him a dick, and then storms out of the room. He listens to the front door slam and the sound of tires peeling out of his driveway and lays his head back against his pillow.

He hesitates for only a moment before picking up the phone and dialing the number.

They are sitting on the floor of Finn's room playing Halo 3 and he's so worked up he can't even manage to get in a jab about the cowboy wallpaper. He's contemplating whether or not to eat a sixth slice of pizza when Finn hits pause and sets down his controller.

"Rachel found out about Santana and that I lied to her. She was so pissed she actually threw a lamp at me."

He can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips or the small smile on his face. Leave it to Berry to have a crazy exit that is just as fucking crazy as she is. Finn is shaking his head and running his hands through his hair and Puck's a bit surprised at how not upset he looks.

"Santana is like napalm isn't she?" Finn questions, his cheeks reddening a bit as he looks down at the almost empty pizza box.

"You've got to be shitting me," Puck finds himself muttering as he looks at his best friend. "Santana, seriously? You have Rachel fucking Berry and you are thinking about Santana?" Puck hates how hopeful he sounds and feels, hates the way he is suddenly excited at the prospect of Finn with his backup girl. He thinks about Santana's visit to his place and suddenly everything makes sense.

Instead of answering Finn shrugs his shoulders a small smile on his face. "What's it matter, it's just Rachel."

The thing is Puck can't help the anger that is slowly building inside of him. Rachel may be crazy and she may be a handful but she deserves so much better. She deserves someone who wants her just as much as she wants them; too much. He reaches to pick up his controller and then stops himself. "I fucking love her," he admits "I think I always fucking have."

He waits for the ball to drop, for Finn to say that she is off limits or harass him but instead he just chuckles and hits play on the remote.

"What the fuck dude?" Puck questions as he throws his controller down. His fists are clenching and his chest is rising and falling with his breaths. It's been awhile since he has been this pissed.

"It's Rachel, Puck. You wouldn't last a week with her. You'd either get bored that she wasn't putting out or you would tell her to shut up and she would freak out on you. You may love the idea of her, but you don't love her."

Before he can stop himself, he finds his fist clenched and sailing through the air. He hasn't punched Finn since the fifth grade, when Finn teased him about his Mom who was out on the town with the freaky guy that runs the local grocery store. When his fist connects with Finn's jaw he feels guilty for just a moment. But then he thinks about Finn and Santana and suddenly it seems justified.

"I'll prove you wrong," he finds himself muttering as he grabs his coat and storms out the door.

She's sitting in the tire swing in the back of her yard when he finds her. Her body is trembling from the cool night air and there are fresh tear tracks on her face. He moves closer to her, wrapping his arms around her. He buries his nose into her hair, breathing her in.

"Finn's a dick," he replies, his arms tightening as he kisses the back of her head.

"Want to know the worst thing?" She questions. Her voice is wavering. It's gravelly and rough from her crying and her hair is billowing out behind her, wrapping him in her scent. "This, being in your arms, is the first time in a long time that things just feel right."

Puck finds himself at a loss for words and instead he tangles his hands in her hair, pulling her to him. Their lips meet, tongues tangle together. His hands are grasping at her thighs, lifting her up so that her legs can wrap around him. Her fingers play with the small hairs at the back of his neck and he can feel each little movement.

He pulls back and lets out a gentle grunt as she shifts against him. Her breathing is labored and her lips are swollen; it's a fucking beautiful sight. But as much as he wants her, as much as he would love to take her he can't. He hates to admit it, but she's waited fucking years for this and he sure as hell isn't going to let her first time be outside where someone could see.

He's not down with that shit. He's never been good with sharing.

"Fuck, Rachel." He whispers, "I love you."

She smiles softly and tears are spilling from her eyes. "I know, Noah."

And it's like he knows everything behind the words, everything that she isn't saying. His fingers move of their own accord, wiping the cascading tears from her face and with each touch he can feel the steady burning.

He has never enjoyed pain more in his life.


	3. Fairytale

_Prompt from greydawning: That's what you never got. It takes an entire lifetime to write the words "and they lived happily ever after."_

_Prompt from Christiesk: __Every time something means a lot to you, you push it away before it can push you away."_

**Fairytale**

As a child, it's so easy to tell someone that you love them; the words don't have the same connotations as when they are uttered by an adult. There is sweetness to it, a simple uncomplicated meaning behind the words. It's hard to say when I realized just how differently those words could be taken, just what a different meaning they could have. I've uttered them so many times in my life that when I finally understood how big they actually were I was hesitant to use them. Words so big, so meaningful, couldn't be used wastefully.

When I was four, I experienced my first foray with love with the prince from Sleeping Beauty. The way he was so brave, so willing to fight for what he wanted, so handsome (and he could dance!). I would shove the cassette into the VCR and plop down right in front of the TV, my eyes focused on the bright blue screen waiting for that first glance. I would watch the movie, mesmerized by the way the characters interacted, by the storyline.

By the time I was five I could recite each and every line from the movie and sing each and every song. I played the tape so often that it became a running joke between my fathers. I'm not sure how many times that year I threw a fit when they called me princess (a nickname that still sticks today).

When the tape finally broke from overuse I was devastated.

My second experience with love came when I was eight. I had attended an afterschool day care program from three pm until five pm with a bunch of other kids from our class. It basically consisted of silly art projects and time-wasting games that kept us entertained until one of our parents could pick us up. I was in that stage of life where I didn't really know what to think of boys other than the fact that they were kind of dirty and often smelled.

I was sitting on the swing, pumping my legs trying to get some air, when he approached me. His hair was so tangled it looked like a nest, his face was smudged in dirt, and he had this mischievous glint in his eyes that kind of startled me. He snuck up behind me, dirty hands brushing against the pure white of my shirt, as he pressed me higher. I remember the squeals that escaped my lip as I flew higher and higher, the feel of my heart soaring in my chest. When my feet finally touched the sandy ground, he came around in front of me, and handed me a small green bracelet.

Then Finn kissed me.

We dated for two whole days before he came up to me and asked for the bracelet back. I ripped the stretchy beads off my wrist and threw them at him, relishing in the sound of them bouncing off his chest. He bent over, picked them up, and walked the short distance to the monkey bars. The next day, Quinn Fabray was wearing the bracelet a smug little smile on her face. I begged Dad and Daddy to pull me from the program and put me into dance classes.

All it took was a few tears for them to agree.

I went through most of middle school years avoiding the opposite sex. Between the heartbreak of my younger days and the sex education class the school forced us to take, I was more than a little terrified. I flitted between school, dance lessons, acting lessons, singing lessons, and home. I relished the routine, the safety of it all. No chances for getting hurt, getting let down, or becoming broken hearted.

We were reading 'Romeo and Juliet' in class when it happened. I had refused to fall victim to the "schoolgirl crushes" that most of my classmates felt on a daily basis. Their attraction waned based upon this celebrity's social status or which of the boy bands contained the cutest member. I was so different from them all, so focused on everything other than boys that when the teacher shoved the TV screen into the room and hit play, I was unprepared and shaken to my core.

I was twelve years old when I learned the joys of having a celebrity crush. It was easy, unassuming, and safe. I watched as Leonardo DiCaprio courted Claire Danes, fascinated as the movie unfolded before me. Sure I knew how the story ended, knew that in the end both of them died, but that did little to stop the tears that fell down my face as the credits rolled.

And suddenly, I was just like my classmates with a foolish schoolgirl crush. I bought the posters, the movies, anything and everything I could get my hands on. Then Titanic came out, and I sat through that movie so many times that I could recite the lines. Each and every time I held my Kleenex in my tightly clenched fist, bawling, I questioned my sanity.

It took me a few years, but I eventually grew out of the infatuation.

By the time I reached high school I understood what none of the other girls did. Throughout our entire life we are manipulated and lied to. We're fed all these lines about the perfect man who will rush in and sweep us off our feet, rescue us when we need it. As much as I longed to believe it, as much as I longed for my prince to come, I knew that perfect man, the fairytale romance, didn't exist.

That didn't stop me from hoping, though.

It was sophomore year when Finn Hudson came stumbling back into my life. He had changed quite a bit since the last time I had seen him. His hair had tamed through the years and his face was now clean of the dirt smudges, but he still had that same mischievous look and disarming smile. From the moment we sang together and our voices mingled I was intrigued.

The problem, though, was that Finn was still with Quinn. It was the perfect high school cliché, the quarterback and the head cheerleader. They seemed to balance each other out in a way that just worked. No matter how much I saw them together I couldn't help but wonder what it was about her that drew him in.

I should have known that I would end up getting hurt, after all this was the same boy who had broken me before, but I flung myself head first into trying to create a relationship with him. It was while I was giving him vocal lessons in the auditorium that things changed. When he pressed me down into the blanket, his lips barely brushing across mine, it was like suddenly everything made sense. The kiss was blinding and buzzing, and I felt the stars burst above me.

Then he ran.

I should have understood that life wasn't that easy, that stuff like that just didn't happen to a girl like me. I refused to be suckered in by Finn, refused to fall into a pattern of complacency; which is part of the reason I think I ended up with Noah. Noah was the complete opposite of Finn in so many ways. He was the requisite bad-boy that every good girl _has_ to fall in love with.

I only let myself date him for three days.

During our relationship, the majority of our time was spent in my bedroom. Kissing Noah was so much different than kissing Finn. Sure the blinding, buzzing, star bursting happened. But Noah was so much more experienced than Finn, so much more willing to push and mold me to his wants and needs. It was an intoxicating feeling.

It was around that time that I started to notice how Noah looked at Quinn. It's hard to understand how I had missed it before that moment, maybe I was too focused on everything else in my life, or maybe I was in denial. All I had wanted was for some guy to look at me like I hung the stars and the moon; instead all of the guys in my life looked at Quinn that way.

So I let him go, realizing with all the bitterness that it took for me to swallow the pill, that there is no prince charming, no Romeo, just normal boys in our normal world.

I wasn't expecting anything when Jesse St. James walked into my life. If I would have known how that relationship would have ended, I would have run the minute that he stepped into my line of sight. There was something about him that was so freeing. I could be myself without worrying what he thought; I could talk to him about anything and not have to worry that he wouldn't understand. He got me to trust him inexplicably, which is why I started to open up to him, to talk about my mother.

The relationship exploded in my face, literally.

I had let my guard down, actually let someone in, and had fallen in love. As I stood with the egg shell in my hair, the yoke running down my face, I forced myself not to cry. I was merely a pawn in his plan to rise to the top, someone for him to trample over. I wish someone would have told me sooner how much it would hurt to have your heart shattered, would have warned me about the pain. Maybe then I wouldn't have been so unprepared for it.

It was at Regionals that very same year that Finn told me he loved me. His relationship with Quinn had disintegrated with the news of baby-gate, and I was still reeling from the hurt and betrayal of Jesse. Finding solace in someone else seemed like the easy thing to do, even if it wasn't right. I found myself in another relationship built upon a pile of wishes and lies.

If only we had been honest with each other.

News of Finn and Santana sleeping together hit my ears pretty quickly once school started back up. It wasn't until I questioned him about it, until I saw the look on his face when I asked him that I knew. Finn and I had gotten pretty serious by that point, far more serious than any of my other relationships had ever been. It was a bit of a shock to discover the lies that had slipped easily from the one boy that I had finally decided was 'safe' to love.

It was then that I lost hope that I would ever find the right guy.

At the end of our junior year the glee club took a trip to New York. Somehow a trip to New York equated with several of the members as a trip to the beach. It was quiet, uneventful, and a bit chilly. I listened to the water lapping at the shore, the sound of music blaring from one of the cars behind us, and found myself tiptoeing into the cool water. I'm not sure if it's a residual effect from watching 'Shark Week' as a child or more my overactive imagination, but I have always been terrified of sharks. I stood, ankle deep, and watched as everyone else waded deeper and deeper.

"You going to stand there all day or are you going to get in the water, Berry?" I listened to the deep timbre of Noah's voice as he waded close to the shore, his eyes squinting through the sunlight.

"I'm alright here." I whimpered taking a few steps back as a large wave crashed into my calves.

He moved towards me slowly, his eyes scanning my face before resting on the ties of my blue bikini. Grabbing my trembling wrist, he turned around and lifted me up onto his back, pulling me into the deeper water with him. My breathing was erratic, my heart palpitating in my chest, and I could feel the way my body trembled against his.

"I've got you," he whispered, his hands tightening around my legs as a wave crashed into us. "I won't drop you."

It's like suddenly everything shifts and I really see him for the first time. He's stubborn, hotheaded, and a bit judgmental. But he's never lied to me, never guided me wrongly. And for some strange reason, I trust him. It's while we are swimming that he kisses me. He brushes his lips against mine gently and I get just a hint of the salty flavor of the water.

I kind of like it.

We start our relationship off slowly. I'm hesitant after being hurt so many times and he's not used to any sort of relationship at all. It's the little things that start to make an impact though; like the way his fingers feel as they brush my hair out of my face or the way his hand feels curled around mine. I also can't help but admire the fact that he is brutally honest with me. I feel the walls that I have built up starting to crumble and I find myself panicking.

The fighting starts off small.

I'm unhappy with the fact that he refuses to sing a lead in glee. He's unhappy that Finn get's to put his hands on me twice a week. He hangs out with Santana far too often for my liking. I spend way too much time studying and don't give him enough attention.

And suddenly it seems like we spend more time fighting than we do anything else. I've already been pulling back, been making myself less and less available. I'm wondering if he even notices when I find him sitting at the lunch table, Santana next to him.

It seems like as good of a reason as any.

I spend my lunch break in the auditorium contemplating my next move. I listen to the sound of my heels clunking against the side of the stage, the sound of my steady breathing, and amazingly will up a few crocodile tears. It's easy to pull one over on the nurse, easy to feign a headache. Curling up on one of the cots for the rest of the day, I realize just how much Noah is impacting me. Faking sick to spend the day in the nurses' office is something Noah would do. It's not a charade I would normally pull and it's further evidence that I'm in too deep.

Daddy picks me up after school. There is a deep line of concern etched in his forehead as I jump into the cab. "Not going to glee club today, princess?"

Instead of responding, I shake my head before leaning it back and closing my eyes. I know that the nurse called him and explained the situation because for the rest of the ride he is completely silent. He drops me off at the door, whispering a quick apology about having to go back into the office. I let myself into the silent house and trudge my way up the stairs.

The knocking starts fifteen minutes later.

I'm positive that he will either give up or find a way inside the house, so I just ignore it and hope for the best. It isn't until my door crashes open and he storms into my room that I realize I was hoping he would give up. He takes one look at me lying on my bed and pauses for a moment. He looks me over, probably trying to determine if I'm faking being sick or not. He seems to make up his mind quickly.

"This is bullshit." His voice is angry and his nostrils are flaring. He paces the length of my bed as his hands clench at his sides. I open my mouth to respond but he interrupts me before I can even get a word out. His hands are white from clenching them into a fist and his voice rumbles as he growls out his words.

"Jesus Christ you're fucking crazy. I'm not letting you do this; I'm not letting you ruin whatever this is between the two of us." His hand flails between the two of us to emphasize the point. He takes a deep breath before sitting down at the edge of my bed. "I've fucking watched you over the years, Berry. I'm starting to see a pattern. Every time something means a lot to you, you push it away before it can push you away." His voice is haggard and he rakes his hands through his hair in an effort to calm some of his anger.

I can feel the stream of tears building behind my eyes and try to fight them back. "What do you expect?" My voice is loud, echoing through the room. With each word that I speak it gets a bit louder until I am screaming at him. "Look at my history. Look at the guys I have dated. How the fuck do you expect me to act? Excuse me for trying not to get hurt, for trying to protect my heart."

"I'm not them," he whispers, his shoulders shrugging a bit as he sags into the mattress. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"That's not a promise you can make, Noah." My voice is filled with sadness and a longing that is hard to describe. "I've fallen for the fairytale too many times. I refuse to be suckered in again. There is no perfect man, no prince to sweep me off my feet. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either stupid or ignorant."

He shakes his head, his brow furrowing. "You don't believe that." He whispers as he reaches his hand out to grab mine. "Fuck, I don't believe that." He pulls me up so that I am sitting next to him, his fingers playing with mine. "You can push me away all you want but you're not getting rid of me."

My sniffles echo through the silence of the room. I'm not sure what he wants me to say, what he expects. There is still this huge chasm between us, one that I'm not sure I will ever be able to cross. "You're the only fucking person other than my mother that believes in me," his voice is soft and filled with sadness. I find myself looking up at him, meeting his eyes. "I refuse to lose you. Fuck who else would put up with my shit?"

He has this sheepish smile on his face as he pulls me closer to him. His lips are so close to mine that I can almost taste them. It's hypnotizing being this close to him, being able to smell him and feel the heat from his body. I almost miss his next words, almost.

"I think I fucking love you."

And then he was kissing me, showing me what he was unable to say.

The sparks were still there, as powerful as ever as they shot through my body. His hands wrapped around my waist pulling me closer and pressing our stomachs together. He moaned my name softly before biting my bottom lip, causing the kiss to become desperate and needier. Our mouths opened, tongues met and wrestled for dominance. His hands left my back and tangled in my hair, pulling me even closer. My fingernails raked over his shoulders, arms, and then his back causing him to groan.

I can feel myself losing control, grasping him ever tighter even as my mouth pulls away from his. I'm gasping for air, my hands clenching his back when he pulls back and smirks, his eyebrows rising in amusement. "I can be your prince, princess."

A laugh escapes my lips and I find myself gently shoving his shoulder teasingly. "Fairytales are overrated, Noah."

His lips linger over my ear as the words puff from his mouth. "The thing you're not getting, though, Berry." I can feel the smirk on his mouth press against the skin just under my ear. A whimper escapes my lips and I feel him chuckle against my side. "It takes an entire lifetime to write the words 'and they lived happily ever after.' I figure I've got time."


	4. Broken

_Prompt from urkonstantine23: Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart_

**Broken**

The tears in her eyes transfixed him.

It wasn't the fact that Rachel Berry was crying, although that in itself was disturbing, but more the fact that he had caused that pain. Each fat tear drop dripped down her face and streaked her cheeks as she stood in front of him.

"Fuck you Noah," she growled her voice thick with sadness.

"You did last night," he replied casually, shrugging his shoulders. He could hear the gasp of their fellow glee club members and he found himself smirking. Leaning back in the plastic chair he watched her color slowly drain.

He expected a witty remark; expected her to throw a tantrum and chew him out in front of everyone. What he didn't expect was the silence. She looked at him for a moment, her features a mask as she stared into his eyes, and then she nodded.

He watched the swish of her skirt as she walked away and wondered what had possessed him to do that. After all she was the only one who really gave a shit about him lately. Hell even his mother had started to give up on him and his mother was the one who had _always_ believed in him.

It was so fucking quiet in the room that puck was sure that he could hear Finn's wheezing from all the way across the room.

"Dude," Finn muttered in shock.

"Shut it."

Picking his guitar up, he plucked the strings between his fingers letting the sound reverberate around him. Rachel was always so fucking dramatic and he contemplated how long it would be until she walked back into the room pretending it never happened. He gave her ten minutes, fifteen tops.

Twenty minutes later he realized just how badly he had fucked up.

The next morning, Puck found himself pulling into his parking space his eyes scanning the lot around him. There were people mulling everywhere and he could clearly see Finn and Quinn standing next to her prius. They looked up at the rattle of his engine and he watched Finn's brow scrunch as he muttered something to Quinn. Then Finn started towards him pulling his passenger door open and hopping in.

"We need to talk."

"If this is about yesterday, bro, I know alright." Puck growled running his hand across his face for a moment. "I get that I fucked up but it's Berry. She'll get over it, she always does."

There was confusion on Finn's face, with a hint of frustration. "Have you talked to her since yesterday?"

Puck thought back to his after school activities. After glee he had hurried home to watch his sister so his mother could go into work. After cooking her some mac'n'cheese he had locked himself into his room, trusting her not to burn down the house since she had already eaten. He had sent Rachel one text at ten pm that night, a simple "we're good, right?"

He had not gotten a response.

"No," Puck shrugged, "I haven't but you know how dramatic she is. I'm sure it will all be forgotten today."

Finn looked at him his face a mask of emotions. For the first time since Finn and Puck had been friends (and they had been friends for like fucking ever) he was unsure what emotion Finn was actually portraying.

"Puck," Finn muttered, "I need to tell you something before you get out of this car and walk into that school."

"Just spit it out," he grunted.

"People are saying you broke her."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Puck questioned.

"Supposedly," Finn stuttered, "Jacob saw Rachel running from the school last night right around the time that she left glee. It's all over his blog and all over the school. People are talking, Puck, and what they are saying, well, it isn't good."

"Why the fuck would I care what other people are saying? I'm Puck." As if this was enough of an explanation he shrugged his shoulders to emphasize the point. Pushing his door opened, his eyes scanned the lot looking for Berry.

If people were talking shit it would be a long day, and as much as he knew that she was probably pissed at him she still deserved a heads up (he wasn't a complete dick, ya' know?)

The warning bell rang and he grudgingly made his way to first period, his eyes hovering over her locker as he passed it. It wasn't until second period when he was in history class that he heard the soft murmur of whispers behind him.

"If you have something to say, fucking say it to my face." He gritted over his shoulder.

For the rest of the period, the class was silent.

It was eight pm when Rachel got the text from Tina.

"You might want to check Jacob's blog. Sorry. -T"

Pulling up his heinous website she clicked on the recent entry, her eyes scanning over the words in front of her.

**Is Puckleberry officially dead?**

_MH's favorite mismatched couple were seeing fighting during glee club today. According to several sources R and P were in a heated argument over none other than Puck's fidelity to his dear little lady. When all was said and done the bomb was dropped. _

_Did Rachel really let Puck stamp __another__ V-card? Sources are saying yes. And as for that running figure who left the school in such a hurry, none other than Mrs. Berry herself. Run, Rachel, Run. _

_Will their shaky relationship be able to last this newest blast? Only time will tell. _

Slamming her laptop closed Rachel shook her head in disgust, letting the words stew in her head. Jacob's stalker tendencies had caused her more than a few problems through the years. While most of his posts had contained at least a small decorum of privacy, now it was all there in the open for everyone to see. Having the school know the private details of her relationship made her feel exposed.

Tugging on her pajamas, and ignoring the burning behind her eyelids, she made her way down the stairs and into the living room.

"Dad, Daddy," her voice was shaking, "I'm really not feeling well. Is it alright if I stay home tomorrow?"

Her Daddy took one look at her red rimmed eyes and nodded his head. "I'll call the school in the morning, dear. You look like you could use a day off."

"Thanks," she softly replied, kissing each of them on the forehead before heading back to her room.

Curling up under her comforter, Rachel finally let the few tears that she had been fighting fall.

She wasn't checking her phone, wasn't anticipating anything. After all this was Noah and he didn't apologize, ever. So when the gentle buzz of her phone wakes her from her slumber, she rolls over and looks at the message.

**We're good right?**

A scoff escapes her lips and she finds herself dropping her phone on the counter and rolling away from it. It's Noah, so she is not sure what she was expecting but it certainly wasn't the nonchalance of his non-apologetic message.

She spends her day off doing uncharacteristically un-Rachel like things. After sitting and watching a few hours of some horrendous vampire show on TV she _tries_ to takes a nap (you try getting a good night's sleep with a broken heart).

Under better circumstances it would have truly been the perfect day.

It's around noon that she hears the nock on the door, the fist pounding out a rhythm against the wood. She is still in her pajamas, not to mention in a cranky mood, so she ignores the steady pounding and makes her way up the stairs to her bedroom.

A few minutes later the pounding stops.

Her eyes are drooping and lidded (she's way too tired) when her bedroom door swings open and Noah flops down on the bed beside her. He has this smug look on his face that pisses her off and before she knows what she is doing, she is literally screaming at him.

She calls him all sorts of nasty things and uses words that she would normally find deplorable. But she's tired and cranky and fuck it all to hell he needs to know how pissed she is. He sits silently, listening as the words tumble from her lips, his face set in a permanent scowl.

"Are you done?" he questions, once she sinks back into her pillow, "Because, by all means if you're not please continue."

"You're a jerk." She growls, her shoulders sagging. "Why would you ask for me to continue ranting on you anyways? What kind of person sits there and lets someone talk to them like that?"

"Honestly," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders, "you cursing is fucking hot."

It's not an apology, but it's Noah and she knows she probably is never going to get one. Plus, the make-up sex, well it's totally _fucking _worth it.


	5. Forgetting

_Prompt from Cheapen: I'm afraid I'll forget how her voice sounds. I'm not supposed to be this guy._

**Forgetting**

I still haven't had that moment of realization; you know the moment where it just hits you that something has become your new truth. Each day when I wake up, I expect her to be lying beside me and each night when I arrive home I can't help but check the back rooms to see if she's there.

The really fucking sick thing, though, is that I'm starting to forget the little things. The way her perfume smelt as it lingered in the air of the bathroom after she sprayed it. The feel of her hair as it brushed across my chest as she curled up beside me in bed. The way her tongue would taste just after she put on her lip-gloss, she couldn't help but take a little taste herself.

I'm not supposed to be this guy. I'm not supposed to be afraid that I'll forget how her voice sounds_,_ or the way she would squint into the mirror as she put on her makeup. I'm not supposed to have this huge fucking hole in my heart that she used to fill. But I do.

Sometimes it hurts to move, to think, to just fucking breathe. On those days I find myself just lying in our bed hoping for the pain to end. Those days are the hardest. I find myself lying in the nook of the bed just between my side and hers. If I close my eyes tightly and lay just right, sometimes I swear it feels like she's still there.

It's been over a week since she left me and most of the old Glee club members have been hanging around. They want me to talk; Quinn keeps telling me that if I talk about it, that it will make the pain lessen. The thing is, sometimes words fail me and when they don't well it's the last fucking thing I want to talk about.

I think, secretly, Quinn is waiting for me to break down.

I think they all are.

She was so fucking beautiful and I'm not just saying that because I loved her. She was legit like the most gorgeous girl. She was also like my best friend in the fucking world. She knew things about me, things that I would be embarrassed to admit to anyone else. But the thing about Rachel was that she had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world to her, the only one that mattered and that you could tell her anything.

She was fucking deep too. I once asked her why it was that she got up on that stage night after night and performed. Because one of the things I knew about Rachel, something no one else knew, was that she suffered from stage fright. Pulling me into her arms and taking a deep breath she leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Because everything in life worth doing has risks; if you don't take the risk then you don't really live do you?"

I think it was at that moment that I knew that I loved her. Sure she was fucking intense (crazy) but in her own way that worked for her too.

As sick and as strange as it sounds, I haven't cried.

Not a single fucking tear.

I've found myself walking around our house, my mind on a constant loop real of memories, trying to force a tear out of me; trying to force the pain out of me. I wonder if I cry if people will stop staring; if Finn and Quinn and their little troop of geeks and misfits will finally leave me the fuck alone. It's like some fucking test that I have to pass for them; oh he's cried so it's safe for us to leave now.

I sat with Rachel in that hospital for hours and watched her go through test after test. I saw every fucking flicker of pain on her face as they probed and prodded her. I was there for the parade of family and friends, each desperate for their last few minutes with her. I was there when she lay in bed struggling to breathe.

And when she took her last fucking breath… want to know what I felt?

Relief.

In so many ways, those last few days, I felt like a fucking outsider looking in on my life. I watched myself slowly lose my grip on the one thing that meant more to me than anything else in the whole fucking world. None of that mattered anymore though. It didn't matter that I was losing a part of myself, didn't matter that my voice sounded just as dead as I felt, because she didn't have to fucking feel any pain anymore.

In the end, that's all that really mattered.

I let her fathers plan her funeral. Its way too formal and stiff and I find myself sitting through most of it wondering what in the hell they were thinking. She would have wanted music, lots of music. And she probably would have wanted (demanded) we sing something. She's placed in a simple black urn etched with a score of white notes. It's so _Rachel_ that I can't help but think that it's the saving grace of the whole damn thing.

I find myself taking in the faces of the crowd, the lives that have become inexplicably entwined with hers. There are dance teachers and music instructors, former classmates and students, fellow actors and friends. And then there are the Glee club members.

Each of us has a different memory of this girl; a different perspective on who she was and how she lived her life. We will all carry something different away from this moment. Some will carry a memory, a whisper of a thought. Others will carry the emotion of the day, the sadness and overwhelming grief.

I will carry away the love of our friends and a last lingering thought that Rachel would always be _my Rachel_ no matter where she was.

A few hours later I'm sitting on our porch with a glass of jack. My hand feels heavy, the token of my love for her still resting on my finger. Its strange being here without her and it feels wrong in so many ways. I know it's a feeling I'm going to have to get used to, just like so many other things that are going to change now.

It fucking sucks.

I clear my throat and throw back the last of my glass, savoring the burn as the liquid slides down. I pick up my daughter, currently laying in her grandmothers arms, and carry her up to her room. She still so fucking young and in so many ways she doesn't understand what all of this means.

And that's the thing. Elyse will never remember all the little things. The smell of her mother's perfume, the way she would sing to her as she rocked her to sleep, or the sound of her voice. I'm not supposed to be this guy; I'm not supposed to be a single father. I'm not supposed to be afraid that if I forget the little things that Elyse will never know her mother.

I sit and watch our daughter sleep and I force myself to remember. I think of the tiny girl with brown hair and eyes whose voice was so much larger than imaginable. I think of calla lilies and apples with just a hint of berry. I think of Rachel; of her beauty, her courage, the sound of her giggle, and the way her smile would light up her face.

I remember and I let the tears fall.


	6. Busted

_Prompt from Cheapen: Yeah, I guess this is kinda embarrassing, huh? Especially for you, given how much you protested._

**_This one should probably have an M warning..._**

**Busted**

Rachel's sitting in the principal's office, head in her hands, mortified when she realizes how funny the situation actually is. She's not really sure how she got here (well, she _knows_, but that's not the point). It's been three years since high school graduation, since she packed up and moved to New York City with stars in her eyes. It's been a rough run, but after a few off-Broadway stints things were beginning to look up.

And now, fucking _now_, she was going to have a permanent record.

Mr. Schuester paces in front of them, his hands flailing and gesturing as words spout out of his mouth. He's using terms such as irresponsible and reprehensible and at any other time, Rachel probably would have felt bad. But when she looks at the man sitting in the chair next to her, bad is the least of what she is feeling. And damnit, all she can see is his smirk.

Who's idea it was doesn't really matter (it was totally _his_ idea). But one minute, she is hanging out at Mike's house with the old glee gang and the next she finds herself standing outside the high school with Noah, hands shoved deep into her pockets. It's the middle of winter and the snow is so thick that it's a chore just to move about.

He pulls a few things out of his pocket, and she watches as he somehow jimmies the lock open. The school is closed for winter break and therefore still quite chilly as they enter it. White puffs leave her mouth with every exhalation and just as she contemplates turning around and heading back to the car, he wraps his hand around her wrist and tugs her down the hallway.

The glee room is just as she remembers it, save for a few new chairs, and she finds herself roaming the once familiar area. Everything seems so different now, so much more real, and being back here is bringing back so many memories. Instead of following her, Noah plops down on the piano bench, a smug smirk on his face.

"So explain to me again, why this is a good idea?" Rachel questions as she turns to look at him.

"Because," he replies, "it's fucking brilliant." He is looking at her with a gaze that she has only seen a few times before. It's a bit unnerving and she can feel her heart pounding in her chest. He pats the bench beside him, his eyebrows arching teasingly with a challenge.

She makes him wait a few minutes, looking over the small case of trophies that line one of the walls, before she finally gives in and sets down next to him. He slides closer to her, his body lining up next to hers and helping to warm her chilly skin. She can feel every inch of him and the smell of him (sandalwood, musk, with a hint of dirt and the ocean) is overwhelming her senses.

Rachel knows, immediately, when she feels the craving building deep within her why they are really there. In a moment of hesitation, she opens her mouth to tell him to stop, but before she can speak her words are lost in a gust of air. His hands are suddenly on her, his palm pressed against her flushed cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb caressing her lips.

Something about the movement mesmerizes her and she finds her head tilting back, a groan escaping, as her body shudders. His eyes are dark and lidded and his breathing is just as ragged as hers is. Each movement he makes, each brush of his hand and breath that he takes sends a shock of fire through her system.

She's desperate for more.

His hand wraps around her chin, turning her face towards his and then his lips are on her, crushing them against his. Her hands scrape at his scalp, his neck, before she braces herself by gripping his shoulders. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer until she is literally straddling him on the bench. Her back is pressed against the closed piano, the wood digging into her spine.

Rachel can't find it in herself to care if she bruises.

Noah hikes her skirt up and she finds herself wrapping her legs around him, her heels digging into his back. Slowly he breaks their kiss, his lips making a trail down to her neck and collarbone as he tugs her jacket off and throws it behind him. Goosebumps form on her neck and arms and he chuckles in delight as his hands run up and down her sides.

A zipper is unzipped and she feels her underwear shoved to the side.

"You're too easy, Berry." He whispers, his words gruff against her throat. "I can fucking play you like this piano."

Before a response can leave her lips, he enters her in one quick thrust, her back arches in pleasure and she can hear the scream leave her lips. The edge of the piano digs into her back, his fingers are pressing into her hips, and she can feel every-_fucking_-thing.

Noah's eyes are sparkling with mischief, and he is grinning cockily at her as she pants above him. Wrapping his arms fully around her waist, he lifts her up and then lets her drop back down onto him. With each movement he presses deeper inside of her, his hands manipulating and molding her closer to him. With each thrust her back digs into the piano causing a pleasurable pain that makes a whimper escape her lips.

It's only once his name escapes her lips in a tumble that he begins to meet her movements with his own thrusts, lifting off the bench and arching into her. She finds her fingers gripping at the ends of the piano, the wood digging into her fingers and palms.

He moves faster and harder, hitting her so deep that she loses control, a scream leaving her lips as she thrusts frantically against him. He meets each of her movements, falling over the edge after her and suddenly they are a both trembling, quivering mess.

They hear a throat clear behind them and both turn their heads to see Mr. Schuester standing in the doorway a look of pure shock on his face.

"In the principal's office, five minutes," the door slams shut behind him.

Shockingly (thank god for small favors), Mr. Schuester doesn't call the cops. He follows them out of the school and into the parking lot, a small scowl on his face as he watches them leave. It isn't until they are in the cab of Noah's truck on the way back to Mike's house that either of them speaks.

"Want to explain to me what that was all about?" Rachel asks her voice wavering slightly. "That was completely mortifying, Noah."

"Yeah, I guess in a way it was kinda embarrassing, huh? Especially for you, given how much you protested and all."

A small sigh escapes her lips, and she finds herself shaking her head in amusement a small laugh bubbling out of her lips. Reaching down, she twirls the diamond ring on her left hand (an early Hanukah present from the man sitting next to her) and smiles.

"Oh come on, Rach," Noah scoffs, his brow rising, "I _know_ you. From the moment you stepped into the glee room freshman year, you've had the idea ingrained in your brain. I was just aiming to please."

"Oh and baby," Noah continues as he pulls next to the curb at Mike's house and puts his truck into park, "By the sound of your screams, I've succeeded."


	7. Psychic

_Prompt from xmonalisa: Puck gets new glasses. Brittany thinks another new kid has started. Rachel thinks [I'll let you decide]._

**Psychic**

Sarah is so dead.

That's the first thing Puck can think of as he pulls up along the curb three blocks from Brittany's house. His sister, in a stroke of _genius_, thought it would be a wonderful idea to see if his contacts floated in the toilet. And no, he's not making this shit up.

Adjusting his black rimmed glasses, he runs a hand through his hair before tugging his jacket off and throwing it into the passenger's seat. There's no point in ruining the thing, not when there is likely to be some freshman who will either spill beer and or throw up on it. What, he likes his letterman's jacket, alright?

It's not quite fall yet, but the air is crisp and he finds himself walking the three blocks quickly and cramming into the packed house. There are beer cans and plastic red cups everywhere and as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab a drink of his own, he nods at a few of the people he recognizes. He's pumping the keg, glass at the ready, when Brittany walks up to him a huge smile on her face.

"Hi," she beams a huge grin on her face.

"Hey Britt," he nods at her, bringing his cup up and taking a sip.

"Whoa, that's cool." Brittany beams, her hands clapping. "Do it again, who is this?" She reaches out and grabs a random person. When they turn to look at her in confusion she just smiles and pats the guys head. He finds himself wondering just how much she's already had to drink, but finds himself appeasing her just the same.

Puck recognizes the guy from the football team and nods at him for a moment, amusement lighting his face. "That's Eric." Her mouth drops open and she starts rambling about knowing someone else who is psychic and how he should meet her. Before he can even open his mouth to respond, she has her hand around his arm and is dragging him down the stairs and into the basement.

He passes Finn and Santana and nods at them, smirking at the small group of freshman that are swarming around them. Somehow the two of them have become the new king and queen of McKinley High. He stops to holler something at Finn, but Britt yanks on his arm, tugging him further into the room. She comes to a stop in front of one of the couches, her hand releasing him. "This is Rachel," she says, her hands clapping excitedly in front of her.

Puck looks down at the small girl setting on the couch. She's wearing a tiny little black dress that barely reaches her thighs. Her legs are curled up underneath her, a red cup resting against her bare knee. Her face is flushed, because honestly it's hot as hell in the basement, and her eyes are shining as she takes him in.

"Noah," she smiles, her arms flailing a bit as she hops up to hug him. She wraps a single arm around him, her body pressing into his. He can't help but pull her closer, amazed by her warmth. For some reason he flashes back to the year before; the two of them lying on her bed, her lips pressed against his.

"Amazing" Brittany cries, laughter escaping her lips. She looks around for a minute her eyes settling on something in the distance. "Santana," she squeals as she bounds away from the two of them.

"Didn't think this was your kind of scene?" he questions as he sits on the cushion next to her. She looks at him for a moment, eyebrows rising as she takes in the glasses on his face.

"I figured one night of debauchery couldn't hurt." There is a slight huskiness to her voice that sends a small shiver down his spine. He finds himself shifting closer to her, watching as her teeth nibble on the edge of her lower lip. "After all, I'm sure that one of the movies I will be in will involve some sort of drunken frat party. Best experience it now…" Her voice trails off at the end, her hand shaking as she brings the cup up to her lips to take another drink. "What's with the glasses?"

He can't help but notice the way the words fall from her lips, each a bit deeper than the last. He watches the way she shifts on the couch, her knee bumping against his. If he didn't know her any better, he would say that she was a bit turned on. Leaning over, so that she could hear him over the music (_of course)_ he lets his breath fan out over her ear.

"You don't like them?" His voice is a bit deeper, slightly breathless. He watches the way her throat bobs as she gulps, her eyes widening as she turns her head to look at him.

"It's just…" she pauses for a moment, and he watches as she thoroughly eye fucks his face, "different."

He lets out a small hum, enjoying the way she can't seem to take her eyes off of him. There is something in her gaze that makes his skin feel like it's on fire and he feels a few of the hairs on his neck stand up. He knows she is all kinds of crazy, but he has a feeling that the crazy would make her a bit wild in the bedroom.

He leans over once again, his lips brushing against the lobe of her ear. She takes in a sharp breath, her body freezing. He lets his chuckle billow out over her neck, watching the goosebumps rise on her skin. "I'll keep the glasses on, if you take the dress off." His voice is grainy, strained, and he can see the effect it's having on her.

Rachel takes a few deep breaths, her hands shaking as she brushes a few stray hairs behind her ear. Then she laughs and leans over, placing her hand flat against his knee. He can feel the softness of her fingers through the denim, can suddenly smell her over the stench of stale beer that permeated the air; she smells like lilies, musk, and honey.

He knows without a doubt that he will kiss her tonight, but he wants to draw the moment out, make her anticipate his next move. Finn and Santana hover in the background, their obnoxious laughter bellowing over the loud music. She turns her head, her eyes scanning the crowd and settling on the two of them. There is something in the way her smile faltered and her eyes narrowed that he found incredibly hot.

"I'm so glad I broke up with him," she mumbles, her eyes rolling at the huge display the two were making. "I mean what kind of person comes to these parties for the specific purpose of groping as others ogle them." She turns back to look at him, the corners of her mouth tugging as she tries not to smile. "Sorry forgot who I was talking to."

Puck can't help the laugh that escapes his lips, his eyes taking in the flush of her cheeks and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. He knows she's changing the subject, which also means he's getting to her. "Oh ouch," he teases, his hand rising to rest above his heart, "you wound me." A small giggle slips past her lips and he watches as she takes another sip of her mixed drink the redness staining her mouth. "As for others watching, some people are into that Berry." With a small wink, he leaves her setting on the couch and pushes his way through the massive crowd of people; Brittany's parents were going to be so pissed.

The next time he sees her, she's at the top of the stairs, her eyes lingering over the family photographs that line the walls. He knows for a fact that Britt has said that the upstairs is off limits, but finds that he doesn't care as he jaunts up the steps after her. He watches her head tilt to the side as she studies a picture of Brittany dressed up like a duck.

"I think it's best if I keep my mouth shut on that one," he whispers. He can see the amused look on her face as she nods her head, biting her lip to fight back her smile.

"Probably," she replies softly, turning to look at him. "I think we need to talk." He nods his head in understanding and then points down the hallway away from the noise and the crowd. She grabs his hand and follows him, her grip tightening once they reach the end of the hall. It's quiet enough that he can hear her breathing and he waits for her to speak.

She doesn't.

"What's up?" he questions, his gaze lingering on her hair, which is currently hanging in front of her face blocking her eyes. He can tell something is bothering her the minute she opens her mouth and then closes it again.

"I broke up with Finn." Her voice is soft and he really has to strain to hear her.

"Old news, Berry," he teases as he feels something similar to a pit in his stomach.

"No," she looks up at him, her eyes shining, "_I_ broke up with _Finn._" He realizes instantly what she is saying and can't help the shock that is flooding his system.

"Why the fuck would you let him go around telling people that _he_ broke up with _you_ then?" He can't help but feel the anger cursing through his veins as he thinks of all the jokes he's heard lately at her expense. Most of them driven by her supposed 'obsession' with Finn.

"He has a reputation to maintain," she answers simply, her shoulders shrugging a bit, "I don't."

Suddenly, things start to make sense. His mind flashes to the day she sat next to him in glee club, her eyes all shiny and hopeful as she asked if he would like to 'hang out.' He can still picture the way her whole body had sagged when he told her that he wouldn't help her 'get over' Finn. She had avoided him for days after that.

Before he can get a word in, she continues. "The relationship ended long before I ended it. I've been over Finn for a _very_ long time. I feel like you and I never really got a chance to try out a relationship, I mean three days hardly counts, and I _really_ want to try, Noah."

And before she can say anything else, his hands are around her waist and he is pulling her towards him; he doesn't mess around. His lips meet hers possessively and he presses his body against hers, molding them together. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling it before letting his tongue lap against it.

A minute later, he pulls back for air, his voice breathless. "In case that wasn't an obvious answer; yes."

Her face is red and her breathing haggard as she looks up into his eyes, a small whimper escaping her lips. "I _really_ like the glasses."

He can't help but laugh as he brushes her hair out of her face, leaning in to place a small peck against her neck. One of his hands has wrapped itself into her hair while the other hand traces small circles on her stomach through her dress when he hears the throat clear behind him.

Brittany stands with her hands on her hips, eyes wide as she takes in the scene in front of her. "Hey guys, I found her." Brittany calls over her shoulder, as she smirks at the two of them. "She's with the new kid."

Rachel turns her head to look at him, a mixture of amusement and confusion present on her face. He leans down and gives her lips a small peck, smiling at the gentle sigh that escapes her lips. His hands are playing with her hair when he looks back up, his eye meeting Finn's.

He swears he hears Finn mutter something about Jewish babies and signs under his breath. Santana, however, looks just as confused as Rachel. "Brittany," Santana says sweetly, "that's Puck." He can feel Rachel's body shaking against him as she fights back the laughter, her eyes clenched tightly.

"But Puck doesn't wear glasses," Brittany questions, her brow scrunched in confusion. Sighing, he reaches up and shoves his glasses onto his forehead for a moment before pulling them back down.

Brittany stands in awe, her mouth open wide. "Oh my god!" she squeals. Her eyes are huge as saucers as she looks between the two of them for a moment. "Puck," she shrieks, "why didn't you tell me you were psychic?"


	8. Stacked Deck

_Prompt from smc 27- Puck runs into Rachel when they're 25. They get to talking. She's still a virgin. __Not for long._

**Stacked Deck**

It had been years since Rachel had seen him. Maybe if she had stopped thinking about him, stopped picturing his face the day that she walked away, then she wouldn't have been so affected when she bumped into him. She was minding her own business, trying to quickly make her way through the grocery store, when she heard his laugh. And she _knew _it was him. After all, the sound of it was ingrained in her brain and it was truly unmistakable.

She turned to look at him, registering the way her heart rate accelerated and her face flushed as his eyes met hers. The smile on his face seemed to grow and she felt her breath literally leave her for a moment before the air entered her lungs in a huge whoosh.

"Well if it isn't the Broadway Diva herself," Puck chided, his eyes scanning over her features as he moved closer to her. She took in his appearance, surprised at how much he hadn't changed over the years; he still wore his grungy band t-shirts and raggedy jeans. There was an awkward moment when they half hugged, half patted each other on the back, and then he buried his hands into his pockets. She watched the way he dug his foot into the linoleum, the way his gaze seemed to burn into her, and she couldn't help but smile.

They spent a good twenty minutes, standing next to the produce and talking about their lives. She regales him with stories of crazy things that happened behind the scenes on the off –Broadway show she was currently working on. He told her about his internship at a local music company and about how he had adopted a yellow lab that "was as stupid as Brittany." It isn't until her phone rings in her pocket that she realizes her friends are probably already at her place wondering where she is.

She hugs him again, this time longer. She takes in the scent of his cologne and the feel of his arms as they wrap around her. She finds herself wondering what her life would have been like if she hadn't been afraid of everything he had offered her in exchange for her staying in Ohio instead of fleeing to New York. But she had a life to live, one that had been planed since she was five and love, or lust, or whatever it was that they felt those few months that they dated wasn't going to stop her.

The next time Rachel sees him is the opening night of her new show. He comes up to her afterwards, smelling like aftershave and looking like a model that has just stepped out of a magazine and she can't help her speechlessness. He seems to understand when he sees the blush spread from her chest up to her cheeks. There's a moment where their hands brush together and she sees a flash of the life she could have had. She feels jittery, on edge, and she can't help but peek at him over her glass of champagne.

"Wanna get out of here?" he questions, one side of him mouth quirking up in amusement. She tilts her head back, draining the glass, and then simply nods. They head to a coffee shop where she is sure they will stick out like a sore thumb, after all they are both dressed to the nines. There is something about being with Noah that makes her at ease, though, and her anxiousness and nerves dissipate.

They sit at a small table towards the back, both of them sipping their warm drinks and nibbling on scones. There is a small rack of games sitting by their table and she watches him dig through it, pulling out a deck of cards. He's got this mischievous look on his face as he plops the deck in front of her and tells her to cut it.

"What are you doing, Noah?" she questions him. He clasps his hands together and points at the deck again with a serious face, so she appeases him. She picks it up and cuts it down the middle, laying the two piles onto the table.

"I'm gonna teach you a game," he says as he merges the two decks together and then proceeds to deal them each twenty cards. "It's kinda like war but not." He looks up at her to make sure that she understands so she nods her head and evens the edges of her cards so that they make a nice, neat, little pile. "The winner of the round gets to ask the loser a question and they have to answer it _truthfully_."

"So it's like truth or dare, with cards and without the dare?" She's not sure why, but she feels like she's getting talked into something that she's going to regret. She's just wondering if she should set up some ground rules when he reaches over and flips her card, then pulls his off the top of his deck and throws it on the table. He's showing an ace while she is showing a king.

"Well look at that," he coos, "I win the first round." Rachel looks up at the smile on his face and then down at the cards. It's only the first round, but she's already starting to wonder if he stacked the deck. "What color underwear are you wearing?"

He has this smirk on his face that she's always found really sexy and his eyes are all dark. It makes her think of all the times they used to make out in the back of his truck when they were in high school. She finds her hands shaking as she reaches for her cup, pulling it up to take a sip. There are a million different answers she could give but he put a ton of emphasis on the word truthfully and she thinks that he would probably make her prove it if he thought she was lying. "Black," she answers as she pushes her hair behind her ear.

His eyes scan her face for a moment before he nods and flips another card; he's showing an eight. She pulls her card up, taking a peek at it before throwing it down. He looks down at the two all innocently and she finds her eyes narrowing at him in suspicion. "There were some rumors in high school, one in particular that I would _love_ to have you validate for me. Is it true that you don't have a gag reflex?"

Rachel's mouth opens in shock. There were only two people who knew that and she knows without a doubt that it's not a topic Mrs. Pillsbury would have been comfortable discussing. "I'm going to kill Finn," she growls grabbing a chunk of her scone and shoving it into her mouth.

"Holy shit," he laughs. She can't help but notice the way his eyes go all wide and then get just a little bit darker. Noah shifts in his seat, one hand gripping the edge of the table as the other flips his next card. He's showing a jack and she can't help but feel a little smug when she flips a queen.

"While we are on the topic of high school rumors," her hands fidget with her cup, twirling her finger along the rim. "Is it true that you had a vasectomy?" He lets out a deep laugh, throwing his head back a bit as his hand rests against his stomach.

"Do you really think I would be sitting in front of you if I did? You've met my mom, you know how she is. She would have fucking killed me. No lie, she's like as bat-shit crazy as you are only about Jewish grandbabies instead of Broadway." He immediately flips his next card over, his eyes looking at her all smug as she stares at his ace. She throws her queen into the pile with a sigh. "How often do you masturbate?"

Her face instantly goes red and she finds her eyes roaming the room to make sure that no one has heard him. "I'm not really comfortable answering that." He gets this knowing look on his face and all she really wants to do is wipe the smug grin off his face.

"Answer the question, Rachel." His voice is deep and her heart stops for a moment before thrumming away in her chest. She looks down at the stack of cards in front of her, suddenly wishing she had asked more questions before agreeing to play.

"Probably a couple times a week." She squeaks out. Her face is so red that she's sure that she looks like she's asphyxiating. He lets out a little groan, though, and she looks up to see him staring at her intently and she finds herself flipping her next card. She's showing a three and he gets this little smile on his face as he throws down a five.

She's not sure how, but she _knows_ that he rigged the deck.

"Do you use a vibrator or your hand?" His voice is gravely, deep, and she knows enough about him to know that this conversation is getting to him just as much as it's getting to her.

"Why, Noah," she finds herself taunting him back, "do you want to know so badly? Your spank-bank can't be that pathetic." His eyes flash for a moment, before he smirks and winks at her lewdly.

"You know me," he growls, "can never have too many mental images." He taps the side of his head with his finger. "You didn't answer the question, Berry. But I don't think you need to." His hands rest against the table as he leans towards her. He's so close she can smell the coffee on his breath. "You're too much of a fucking good girl to buy a vibrator which means you use your hand."

A gasp escapes her lips and he smirks at her knowingly as he reaches down and flips an ace, his eyebrows arching at her in a challenge to continue. She's not sure when it became more about proving that she wasn't afraid than actually playing the game but she throws down her ten and arches her own eyebrows arching in defiance.

"Who popped your cherry?" his voice is melodic, deep and grainy. "I know that you still had it when I was with you in high school which makes me wonder. Who was the first to plunder you, Berry?"

She knows that she should be disgusted by his words, by how vulgar and barbaric they are. But even more than that, she's a bit hesitant to answer his question because of the response she knows she will get. She's twenty five years old and still a virgin, which isn't the most ideal situation. It wasn't like she was saving herself for any one particular person, but after everything that happened with Jesse, she was hesitant to open her legs for just anyone. Plus a lot of the guys she had met in New York were either gay or assholes.

"Taking a trip down memory lane?" he questions, his eyes smoldering.

Her face is on fire and she can feel her heart beating in her ears. There isn't really any way for her to answer his question so she just laughs and throws all of her cards into the center of the table. "I'm not answering that question." Her hands cross over her chest and she's scowling at him which he doesn't seem to notice since his eyes are focused solely on her chest.

"How is that question any different than any of the others?" he looks up at her knowingly and she finds herself grabbing her purse and storming out of the shop. She makes it a block before he catches up with her. He walks next to her, not saying anything for a few moments, and she finds the silence unnerving.

"I'm not talking about this with you, Noah." she whispers. "It's embarrassing enough as it is without having to tell you and have you make fun of me for it."

"That's not something I would make fun of you for, Rach." His tone is soft and she can tell by the way he looks at her that he's telling the truth. He seems to be pondering something over and she watches him chew on his lip for a moment before he sighs. "Honestly, I'm kind of relieved."

She turns on her heel to walk away, but stops when he reaches out and grabs her arm. "Rachel," his voice is hesitant, nervous. "I always kind of hoped it would be me."

They are standing in the middle of the sidewalk on one of the busiest streets in New York City and all she can think is how unlike her life this moment is. She is the quintessential friend material; the men in her life don't make big gestures or fall in love with her.

Noah's palms feel sweaty against hers and she turns to look at him seeing something she hasn't seen in any mans eyes since that last day of summer when she boarded the plane.

"Just promise me you won't make me wait until you're twenty six." His eyebrows are knit and he's pouting his lips a little bit. She nods her head and relishes the feel of his lips as they brush against hers.

When he finally pulls away and she's gasping for breath, she looks up at him in amusement. "So you want to tell me how you stacked the deck?" she questions.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replies. The smile on his face seems to tell her otherwise.


	9. Decisions

_Prompt from Goingvintage - "You have to choose, Rachel. You can't keep doing this. Make a decision."_

**Decisions**

They meet at the edge of town. It's the fucking worst place in the city and he knows the moment he sees her step out of the car that she doesn't belong there. He walks up to the teller and slips him some cash, watches the small key slip through a hole in the bars, and he shakes his head in disgust.

This isn't how they were supposed to end up.

They were supposed to be happily married by now with 2.5 kids with the house and the dog and the fucking white picket fence. He was supposed to be the one that she crawled into bed with each and every night; but he wasn't. It wasn't his fault that he got drunk that night at a party and pulled Santana into a back room. He wasn't in his right mind at the time and Rachel wasn't even supposed to be at the party. How did he know that Rachel would show up and walk in at the very moment Santana was on her knees mouth wrapped around him?

And Sam, fucking Sam, was the one who helped her pick up the pieces. If he would have known what a backstabbing bastard the guy was he wouldn't have been quite so quick to welcome him into the group. There was something about his big dopey eyes and his nerdy charm that had all of the ladies falling all over him. At first he thought it was funny, thought he had found another player to add to his retinue of friends. But that was before.

He opens the door to the trashy motel room, eyes crinkling in disgust the minute he sees it. Her eyes scan over the room and he watches her visibly gulp. She looks up at him through her eyelashes and he can see so many different emotions behind her eyes; she's scared, upset, lost, and confused. She takes off her jacket and he can see the edge of her black lace bra and fuck he's hard as rock but he knows that this isn't right.

"We can't do this, Rachel." He throws the key onto the table and pulls one of the chairs out. There is a huge stain on the cloth that skeeves him out a little bit, but he isn't going to make her set on it so he pretends like it doesn't matter.

"It's not like this is the first time," she scoffs. Her face is set, a look of determination pinched into place. He's not a fucking idiot; he knows her hard demeanor and attitude are all an act that she is putting on. She kicks the door closed and flicks the lock in place. Her hands tremble (she may be able to control her face but her body is a completely other story) as she reaches up and pulls the zipper on the side of her dress down; it puddles on the floor at her feet.

"Stop fucking pretending you're alright with this." His fist hits the counter and he finds his eyes staring at the wall trying to avoid looking at her matching underwear. She moves across the room and he feels her pull his chair out, her legs arching over his as she straddles his waist.

"I am alright with this," she whimpers as she moves her body over the top of his. His hands reach out involuntarily and wrap around her waist. He'd like to think he was trying to prevent her from falling but the next time she moves it's his hands that are aiding her.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck; _chants through his mind as she leans closer to him, her lips brushing against the stubble on his cheek and chin. His eyes clench shut and he feels her pressing down on him fucking harder and he groans and she lets out this guttural laugh.

He knows he needs to stop her, stop this, but it's like his body is on autopilot as she reaches down and tugs at his button and his zipper. His hips arch up against her and she throws her head back letting out a loud moan that echoes against the walls. Her fingers snake beneath the material of his boxers, grabbing at his flesh and squeezing.

"Rachel," he moans, eyes clenching tight as pants escape his lips. She laces her fingers through the edge of his jeans and boxers, tugging on the material trying to pull them down. When his hips shift against her hand, she succeeds.

Her hands dig into his shoulders; he can feel the tips of her nails through the material of his shirt. "This is so fucked up," he whispers, his neck arching as her body rolls against his. "Does your fiancé know where you are? Does he know that you're out fucking one of his best friends?"

"Shut up, Puck," she growls as she lowers herself onto him. She sets a fast pace, her body twisting and arching against him and all he can think is _holy shit._ His grip tightens on her waist, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

"Does he know about our little trysts, Rachel? You've been fucking me for years on the side. Do you go home and crawl into his bed still smelling like me?" He digs his heels into the carpet to get some traction and thrusts up into her. She lets out a loud whine, her mouth open as she stares at the ceiling above them.

"This is it, Rachel." He groans as he flexes his back and arches against her again. Her grip tightens on his arms, nails digging deeper and he wonders if she is going to draw blood. He finds himself grabbing her wrists and tugging them behind her back. He holds them there with one of his hands, his eyes finally meeting hers.

"This can't continue." Her head drops down against his shoulder, her mouth biting at his skin through the thin material of his t-shirt. "This isn't you, Rachel." She meets his thrusts, her body shaking as he releases her wrists and tugs her hips against his sharply. He listens to the sound of her breathing, the small whimpers and moans that escape her lips, and the loud wail she releases when he thrusts up inside of her and finally lets go.

He holds her in his arms for a minute, head resting against her shoulder. Then he picks her up and sets her in the chair as he rights his clothes. "This isn't you," he whispers.

"It's what you want isn't it?" she questions her eyes looking up into his. He can see the sadness and desperation lurking there and wonders how Sam misses it. Truthfully, it breaks his heart.

"I never wanted you like this, _never_." He replies, his hands tugging at the small strip of hair on his head. The tears are brimming on her eyelids and all he can think about is the fact that she is going to go home to her fiancé and he is going to go home to an empty fucking house that he can barely stand to be in.

"At some point, Rachel." He brushes a few of her hairs out of her face, "This stopped being about you and me and started being about the other people in our life."

She doesn't say anything. He's not sure what he wants her to say.

"You have to choose, Rachel." His shoulders feel heavy with the weight of this lie that he has been carrying for years. "You can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this. It hurts too fucking much."

"It's either me or him. Make a decision."


	10. Kids Table

This is a prompt fill from the BT prompt call.

_Fuck that. I'm gonna get drunker and make them regret they EVER put me at the kids table. I'm a MAN. –blackgem88_

**Kids Table**

Her boyfriend is a _big_ baby.

It's not that Rachel hasn't known this before this moment in time; it's not really even a surprise. But as Noah sits at the small fold up picnic table, his lip pouted out, and his hands crossed the statement is truer than ever. It's the middle of August and the heat outside makes it almost unbearable for them to even _be_ outside. But its Dad and Daddy Berry's anniversary and this is what they wanted; a yard full of people, some grilled food, and some beer.

Noah turns to look at her, his eyes all sad and puppy like as tilts his head back and takes a long draw from his drink. "Baby," he calls to her through the crowd of people. She maneuvers her way over to him, sitting on the edge of his knee, her hands lacing around his neck.

"Yes, Noah," she replies smiling at the Parson's girl who is sitting on the other side of the table; the girls eyes are fixated on Noah as she tugs at the ends of her two small braids. "Hello Callie," she whispers to the girl. She wiggles her fingers a little bit and watches the girl hop up and go running across the yard towards her parents. "Must be shy," she murmurs.

"I'm at the kids table, baby." Noah pouts. She looks at the small bench he is currently sitting on and tries not to laugh at how big he looks in comparison to the small table behind him. "They put me at the fucking kids table."

Rachel brings her hand up to cup it over his mouth, shooting him a dirty glare in the process. "Language, Noah." She finds herself scolding him as she looks at the three year old sitting at the end of the bench, a worm in his hand. "You told me that you weren't even sure you could make it. You know how much time Dad and Daddy put into this thing making sure that everyone was seated next to someone they could get along with. They are not going to undo all that planning just because you decided to grace us with your presence."

He lets out a small scoff and tips his head back draining his beer. She reaches over and grabs the empty bottle out of his hand, her eyes scanning him nervously. "How many of these have you had?" When he shrugs his shoulders in response she lets out a small tisk and hops up off of his lap. "You will not be imbedding in any more alcohol tonight, Noah. This party is important to my fathers and as such is important to me."

Noah crosses his arms, his eyebrow rising in challenge at her words. He looks at the children sitting around him and mutters under his breath. "I'm surrounded by midgets." If he wasn't being such a child about the whole situation she might find it kind of funny or endearing. Instead it's just pissing her off.

"Please stop being difficult," she whispers. "I have enough on my plate without having to worry about you too."

"Fuck that," he mutters hopping up and making his way to the open bar. He grabs another beer and holds it up in front of her twisting the cap open. "I'm gonna get drunker and make them regret they EVER put me at the kids table." He throws his head back, taking three large gulps before he looks up into her eyes. "I'm a MAN, damn it."

She feels the scoff leave her lips as she shakes her head, slightly upset by his behavior. "You know what, Noah?" she replies as she looks at him through slit eyes. "You're completely right, you are a man." She turns to walk away from him and it's then that he realizes he's probably in trouble. She whips around when she gets a few steps away, her mouth set in a line. "You'll be such a big, strong _man_ when you sleep by yourself on the couch tonight."

There is a small litany of curse words building up in his brain and all he can think is that he has somehow fucked himself over and he probably won't get laid for at least a week. Rachel walks over to the table and picks up one of the two small boys still there. She has a tight smile on her face; one that he knows is totally fake. He looks at the tuff of brown hair on the kid for a moment wondering if it's the same one he just saw eat his own boogers.

When she kisses the boy on the mouth, he _really _doesn't want to find out.

For the next hour she purposely avoids him. She goes around talking to all of her fathers friends, making sure to say hello to each person she passes. He doesn't really know anyone at this party, other than her and her fathers, so he ends up sitting by himself and just watching her work the lawn. The small girl, the one Rachel thought was so shy, comes up and hops into a chair next to him. She bangs her feet against the legs and he can hear her singing softly under her breath.

The brat's kinda cute, he has to admit.

"Hi," she finally whispers as she looks up at him with these huge eyes. He can't help but smile at the adorableness a little bit and he finds himself turning towards her.

"Hi," he whispers back smiling as she lets out a small squeak. "I'm Noah." She waves her hand in the air and he can't help but chuckle a bit at the whole situation. The girl keeps looking between him and Rachel and he can tell that the wheels are turning in her little brain.

"Are you and Rachel married?" the girl questions softly. A blush floods her cheeks and she kind of fiddles with her hands in her lap. "Rachel's pretty."

He can already see where this conversation is going, but he also knows that most of the other kids are ignoring her and this party has to be boring the hell out of her. "Nope," he replies shrugging his shoulders, "not married to Rachel. And yes, she is _very_ pretty."

The little girl looks up at him all innocent and he knows the question she is going to ask before she even thinks it. "Am I pretty?" the little girl inquires as she straightens out the hem on her dress. She has this bright blonde hair and these pretty green eyes and fuck it all she kind of reminds him of Beth.

"_Very_ pretty," he whispers. She looks up at him with this huge fucking smile on her face and then Rachel is standing in front of him, her eyes all fucking big and bright.

"Hi baby," he snarks. He's biting his lip trying to keep from laughing at the expression on her face.

"Noah can I talk to you inside for a moment," she lets out this noise and he can't help but smirk when he hears it. He knows that noise. It's _his_ fucking noise. She grabs his hand and pulls him up from the chair and her face is red and she's biting the side of her lip and he knows what that shit means.

Before she can pull him away he finds himself leaning down, dropping a quick kiss on the top of the little girls head. "Thanks Callie," he whispers with a wink.


	11. Make Me Forget

_This is a prompt fill from the Puck/Rachel Drabble meme-  
Prompt via -hiddenmoonlyt - Puck and Rachel riding home together after the funeral._

**Make Me Forget**

Puck can see her out of the corner of his eyes, the way the tears cascade down her cheeks, and he knows that as hard as this is for all of them that she's crumbling at the seams. The past year has been hard on her, harder on her then any of the rest of them, and sometimes when he looks at her he can see the pain in her eyes; the scars on her soul. Her façade had been breaking lately, little pieces chipping away, and as hard as she tries to stay strong he knows it can only last so long.

He waits until they are both situated in the small black car he borrowed from his Mom before he really looks at her. She's wearing a simple black dress, her hair twisted and clipped up off of her neck, her face bare of makeup. It's probably the most beautiful (and vulnerable) he'd ever seen her and the whole situation is just fucked up. "Are your Dads home?" he whispers. She closes her eyes for just a moment, a few tears trickling out, and shakes her head no. As much as he knows her Dads love her, he also knows that she spends way too much fucking time by herself.

He knows she has a therapist on speed dial and he's pretty sure that if she called Kurt that he would come over because apparently they are like _BFF's_ now or something. But Kurt is with Mercedes and he's pretty sure he heard the two of them making plans with Mike and Tina. None of them really thought to include her. "Why don't you come back to my place for awhile?" It's not really a question so he doesn't wait for a response, just pulls out of the parking lot and turns to the left.

It's quiet. Rachel sits and stares out her car window, eyes so focused that he was sure her mind was somewhere else. On the way to the church he'd flipped the radio off preferring the comfortable silence of the car to the quiet hum of music in the background, so he listens to the purr of the engine and the sound of the tires running along the road and waits.

"I just," her voice breaks and she shakes her head, eyes closing. "It hurts." It's probably the first honest thing he's heard her say in days. "Seeing Finn with Quinn, having to hear about Shelby from Jesse, constantly getting left out; is there something wrong with me that people feel the need to be so cruel?" She lets a few loose strands of her hair cascade over her face as he tries to formulate a response. There's nothing he can really say, though, to make it any better.

The flood lights are shining on the porch, which is a pretty clear sign that his Mom is working the late shift. Puck shoves his key in the lock, looking over his shoulder just once as he pushes the door open and drops his key on the small table in the entryway. "Water?" he questions. She nods her head, her fingers playing with the strap on her purse and the whole thing just seems so hopeless. "Be right back," he mutters.

He stands in front of the sink, letting the faucet run cold, and watches the water twist and swirl down the drain. He's not the type of guy that should be comforting her; he's no good at this, no good at emotions and feelings. But he's also pretty sure that he's the only person she has right now.

When he gets back to the living room, Rachel is setting on the couch her hands folded primly in her lap (her ankles crossed). There are streaks down her cheeks, the remnants of her tears, but all he can think about is the tangles of hair hanging in her face. He holds the glass of water out to her and watches as she gulps it back. "Thank you," her voice is quiet, broken and all he can do is nod his head. "I know there are a million other things you would probably rather be doing," she continues, "and I'm not quite sure why you are doing this but it does mean a lot."

He's not really sure either, if he's honest with himself, and as he plops down on the couch beside her he shrugs his shoulders in response. "We're friends, Berry. It's what friends do." She looks so fucking small and for some reason he has this huge urge to pull her to him and wrap his arms around her. Instead he lets the words tumble from his brain and out his mouth. "Plus I made your life hell for awhile, so it's only fair I'm here to help pick up the pieces now."

She shifts uncomfortably, her hands tugging at the end of her dress, before she finally just relaxes back against the couch cushion with a sigh. Her thigh is pressing lightly against the side of his and he can feel the heat permeating through his pants. "I just want to forget," she mumbles, "just for a moment how messed up everything is." She looks up at him through her eyelashes and he feels his breath catching in his throat. Her teeth nibble on her bottom lip and as hard as he tries to look away he can't. "Please," she murmurs, "make me forget."

The kiss is soft, tentative, and as hard as he tries he can't pull away. Her hand slides slowly up his chest to wrap around his neck and he feels the gentle tug of her fingers on the skin. It's pretty obvious he needs to be the strong one and he knows that as much as he wants more, that neither of them are thinking too clearly. She nips at his bottom lip, her tongue soothing the sting and he jerks back; breaths escaping in a pant.

"This isn't a good idea." His voice is shaking, breathing shallow. "This is _really_ not a good idea." It's fucked up that he's the voice of reason right now, but one of them needs to be and she's clearly not in the right mind to do it. He twists a bit more towards her, his body leaning into hers as he tangles his hands in her hair and pulls her back to his mouth. Her fingers move to grip his shoulders and he lets his tongue swipe against her lip once before she opens her mouth. It's familiar and they both let out a low moan that echoes through the quiet room.

"Please Noah," she whimpers, pulling her mouth away, "Please." He can feel the heat of her body pressing against him, the warmth radiating through his clothes. He clenches his eyes tight listening to the sound of her pleas and as much as it breaks his heart, he can't be that person again.

"I can't be your mistake, Rachel. I won't be your mistake." She looks hurt, broken, and a lone tear tumbles from her eye and drops down onto his skin. "Fuck, you make it hard to say no to you." She leans down and presses her lips against his and he feels like she's devouring him all at once.

"Then don't say no," the words are whispered and she clenches her jaw tight, "plus it wouldn't be a mistake. I want this, Noah." She closes her eyes and he can already see the rejection forming on her face. He lets his hand move from her neck to her chin, cupping it gently in his palm.

"You're beautiful, Rachel" his voice is firm, resolute. She's quiet, stunned for just a moment, before the tears tumble down her face and she crumples into his shoulder. He runs his hand gently down her back, soothing her frayed nerves and listens to her stuttered breathing. "And as much as you think it won't matter, you don't want your first time to be just because you want to forget. You deserve so much more than that." It may sound fucking corny as all hell, but it's the truth and he's always at least given her that. He may not be able to give her what she wants, at least not this time, but he can give her what she needs; Friendship.


End file.
